


The Night Hunters

by Decepticonsensual



Series: The Festival of Mortilus [10]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 09:14:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8885251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: Jazz is a seasoned vampire hunter who's seen it all.  So tracking and bringing down a freshly turned vamp who's been leaving a string of bodies all over Iacon should be right up his alley... right?  Turns out that Jazz has never faced a monster quite like this one before.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Request fic, with the prompt "vampire AU". Some references to violence, but nothing too explicit. 
> 
> If you like, this CAN be considered roughly in continuity with my Whirl the Demonslayer AU fic, "Super Unvincible", which is here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3147146. The Slayers (who deal with demons) would be a rival organisation to the Fellowship of Hunters (who deal with vampires). A bit like the Wreckers and Autobot Spec Ops, really.

“Child,” says the low, cool voice, somewhere off in the darkness, “you should not have come here.”

 

Jazz smiles wryly as he adjusts the sight on his crossbow, silver-tipped shaft gleaming faintly.  “ _Child_?  Now, I may have kept my boyish good looks, my mech, but don’t get me wrong.”  Keeping up a stream of patter to try and distract his target’s attention, he creeps along the roof.  “I’ve been dustin’ vamps since the days of Nova Prime.  And how long, exactly, have _you_ been bitin’ necks?”  Silence answers him, and Jazz chuckles.  “Oh, newbie, are you?  It shows, mech.”

 

It’s a lie, but Jazz hopes this particular vamp is still too inexperienced to realise that.  In reality, this one is good – too good, and Jazz has been careless.  Millions of years ago, his mentor used to hammer home again and again that _every_ hunt is dangerous, _every_ hunt could be your last.  Your living body betrays itself, the whir of your spark and the pulse of fuel in your veins audible to the creatures you track, while they possess no such vulnerabilities. But, well, Jazz _has_ been at this for aeons, and he never expected a newly-turned vampire to give him any trouble.  Get in, one shot to the corrupted spark, and then nothing left to do but perform the rites over the corpse that would ensure the spark was laid to rest, for good.

 

He didn’t expect to be spotted.  He didn’t expect to end up in a rooftop chase across the city – how does the creature know these streets so damned well? - and he definitely never expected to be standing at the edge of the roof of Iacon City Hall, with his quarry, having somehow slipped out of his sight, now taunting him from the shadows behind him.

 

But two can play at that game.  

“You know you’re not getting away, right?” Jazz calls out, using the echoes off the building’s spires to disguise his true location.  “Maybe I don’t stake you tonight, but the Fellowship of Hunters isn’t going to let you live after what you did.  You’re one itty-bitty baby vamp up against an army.  What?”  He spins in place, straining for the faintest sound of feet – or wings – moving.  “Did your master tell you they could protect you?  Because they lied.”

 

“ _No master._ ”

 

The echoes cut both ways, apparently, because the words seem to come from everywhere at once.

 

“Your sire, whatever.  Whoever it was who made you a monster.”

 

Laughter is unexpectedly filling the air around him, and Jazz feels the faintest beginnings of a chill start to creep into his spark.

 

“ _That_ happened a long time ago.  Not all monsters have fangs.  But I didn’t do the thing you accuse me of.”

 

Jazz hesitates.  That’s… new.  Most newly created vampires revel in their kills.  Most older vamps, as well, to be honest – oh, sure, the really ancient line will usually cloak it in eloquent speeches about moral relativism and the ways of nature, usually while offering you an ornate goblet of something that smells suspiciously like innermost energon, but the same essential lack of shame is there. He’s never heard a vampire flat out _deny_ it before.

 

“The murders of one Redline of Vos, diplomatic attache, and an unnamed companion, most likely an escort from one of the local establishments, in the alley adjacent to Maccadam’s New Oil House,” the voice from the shadows recites.  “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

 

“If you’re saying that wasn’t you, how do you know so much about it?” Jazz is taken aback, and not just by the level of detail the mech knows – there’s something in the way he just listed it all off, too, something naggingly familiar.

 

“I make a point of knowing everything.”

 

The voice is suddenly an inch from his audial.  Jazz tries to whirl around, but too late – preternaturally strong arms wrap around him from behind, one bent around his neck, the other pinning his arms to his sides and forcing the crossbow from his grip.  As Jazz writhes, trying to get some purchase on his attacker, he catches a glimpse of the arm around his throat.  The stripes at the shoulder startle him into stillness.  “You’re a _cop_?”

 

“Was.” The grip on him loosens and shifts, and Jazz is rotated to face the vampire.  He’s surprised by how young this one is – not just freshly undead, but evidently young when he was killed.  Jazz finds himself breaking one of his rules, as he allows himself, jut for a moment, to wonder about who his quarry was when he was alive.  A beat cop just out of training, lured into an alleyway with a false distress call?  Or maybe stalked, a vampire waiting until he was off shift and alone, and abruptly dropping from the rooftops to sink merciless fangs into the screaming officer’s neck?  It’s an uncomfortably vivid image, and Jazz chides himself for the indulgence – there’s nothing more dangerous than sympathy at a moment like this.  The vamp’s mouth quirks up wryly at the corner, exposing a hint of fang.  “The enforcers tend not to look kindly on trying to come to work after you’re dead.”

 

Jazz snorts inelegantly.  Then he says, “So… can’t help but notice that you’ve got me on the ropes, and yet my neck is feeling pretty un-nibbled.”

 

“I’m tracking whoever killed Redline; I have no time for a feud with the Fellowship.  If I let you live, are you going to stake me as soon as my back is turned?”

 

“Depends. You going to let me in on your investigation?”

 

The vampire tilts his head.  “Why would you want that?”

 

“Well, mech, if you’re innocent, that means someone framed you – even went so far as to lie to the Fellowship so we’d bump you off for them.  I don’t take kindly to being used like that.  And I _really_ don’t take kindly to being turned into a weapon to kill innocent people.”

 

“Hunters don’t see us as ‘people’,” the other spits.  “I’m still a vampire, either way.  I would have thought that alone would condemn me, as far as you’re concerned.”

 

“Then you thought wrong.”

 

The vampire studies him for a long moment, then releases him; as Jazz is finding his feet again, his one-time quarry stretches out a hand. The expression on the young vampire’s face is wary, as if he’s expecting Jazz to refuse to shake a monster’s hand.

 

And maybe that’s why Jazz takes the cold hand in his, meeting the vampire’s startled gaze as he clasps hands firmly.  “You got yourself a deal.”


End file.
